Wicked Intent
by Fortuna90
Summary: Sam and Dean take a case in Wyoming, where men are mysteriously disappearing into the woods, never to be seen again. The angels believe they have found a way to reopen the gates of heaven. Meanwhile, Castiel faces trouble of his own. Set after 9x13, probably will end up being AU. Rated T for language, some violence.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Wicked Intent

* * *

**Summary:** Sam and Dean take a case in Wyoming, where men are disappearing mysteriously in the woods, never to be seen again. The angels believe they have found a way to reopen the gates of heaven. Meanwhile, Castiel faces trouble of his own. Set after 9x13, probably will end up being AU.

**A/N: **This story is co-written by two authors. It's a work in progress, though the first chapters are almost complete and edited. Please remember, reviews are very much appreciated! We hope you enjoy the story!

**Disclaimer: **We don't own Supernatural, or any of its contents. We don't own anything you recognise, just borrowed it for a bit of creative practice. All mistakes are ours. We make no profit from writing this story.

**Warnings:** Language mostly, and violence

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**Prologue**

* * *

Somewhere in the icy, barren mountains that formed the wintery landscape of Svalbard's second largest island, commonly known as the Nordaustlandet, a lone figure stood raised against the winds battering the rocks. Snow whirled up around him, but it did not seem to bother the individual walking these lands. He was on a mission, and it had led him here, to the edge of a world, where nothing survived save for the few mammals strong enough to brace the cold. The white colour of the snow around him would be deemed blinding to the mortal eye, yet he did not even blink as his eyes sought out one particular spot in the land: a dark blemish that rose up in the land just ahead, a smudge of colour oddly out of place in all whiteness around him.

The individual was wearing a light coat that was simply not made for these kinds of weather. His footsteps were light and sure as he made his way to the cave. He was alert for any noises around him, save the howling wind. It was vital to him that he should remain alone. Any sound could indicate an interruption by others, and his mission might fail as a consequence. To him, that simply was not an option.

The inside of the cave was dark and damp. The wind seemed less loud, the further the figure descended in the cavern. A drawing on one of the walls, barely visible in the fading light, made him pause for a moment. It seemed he was in the right place, he mused as he examined the symbol.

The figure continued on, further and further down into the cave. He seemed to know intuitively which way to turn, which twirling and twisting passage was the right one. Finally the road he took came to an end; in a small, rounded chamber which almost appeared to be manmade. The individual knew better though. For ages, small droplets of water had been exuding past the stone, creating cracks in the rock and eventually forming the chamber as it stayed now. This deep in the cavern no natural light should have penetrated. Nature though never ceased to amaze the figure standing in the chamber, for a small, round hole had been formed at the roof of the chamber, allowing a small beam of daylight to shine down upon the middle of the cavern. Light small snowflakes drifted down lazily in the light, and had the figure been a lesser being he would have stared up in childlike wonder. However, he was not and he still had a mission to fulfil, he reminded himself.

For there, in the centre of the chamber, caught in the small bundle of daylight, rested a stone, which had not been touched since the forming of the chamber. Where all other rocks had long since eroded away, this stone had remained. Whereas time changed its surroundings, the stone remained eternal as though some kind of magic had prevented it from taking its natural course.

The figure moved forward swiftly and, after having made sure he still was alone, ran a finger reverently over the stone. At once, a hush seemed to descend over the chamber. Even the howling winds outside seemed muted. The figure smiled at last and disappeared, taking the stone with him. Had anyone been around to bear witness to the act, they would only have heard the soft fluttering of wings echoing through the cave as evidence of an angel ever having been there.

Thousands of miles away, in a cave not unlike the other, an ancient being awakened.

* * *

The man had been running for a long time. He was tired, but did not dare to stop. His feet pounded the floor in rhythm with the beat of his heart as he ran, stirring up the scattered leaves on the forest floor. He could feel his breath catching even as he struggled to keep running. Behind him, faint laughter echoed through the dark trees, edging him on further.

You can't hide; the wind seemed to whisper around him. Cannot hide, not ever.

He stumbled and finally fell. For a moment the man simply stayed down, panting and wheezing for breath. He could not remember ever feeling this much fear, not even after having been pulled over by the police, that one time when he was a teenager and had stolen his father's prized car for a joyride. The current situation was different, very different. He had nothing, not the devil-may-care attitude he had wielded when he was that age, nor the weapons he had taken into the woods earlier that afternoon. His shotgun was lost somewhere in the woods behind him, not that it had done much good against what hunted him.

You can't hide. The whispered voice sounded much closer this time.

Panic-filled eyes looked back, even as the man jumped to his feet. Adrenaline invigorated him and his feet moved to start fleeing again. Even as he made the first step, he felt it was too late, however, almost as if some primal instinct told him he was a hunter turned prey. For a moment the man wondered if this was how a rabbit would feel with a snare wound around its feet, how a deer would feel seconds before wolves jumped it. A dark chuckle floated across the clearing, coming from between the trees in front of him. Futilely, the man stepped back.

"Please, please don't!" he screamed.

In his last fleeting moments, all the man could see were two bright blue eyes and a cold, satisfied smile.


	2. In The Beginning

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Supernatural.

* * *

**Chapter one: In The Beginning**

* * *

Dean rubbed the latest mark on his arm, in a rare moment of quiet contemplation. His brother had gone out for food, so the bunker seemed emptier then before. Unlike most moments in his life, Dean felt as though he could finally stop and think for a while, no matter how much he normally tried to avoid these kinds of situations. The quiet atmosphere around him helped somewhat, he had to admit. He sighed as he pushed down his sleeve over his arm. It would do no good for Sam to find him and see the strange mark on his arm.

He didn't yet know what to do about the mark of Cain, or if anything was to be done. He did not know if he could buy the story the demon had told him before; there were too many variables, too many factors he had to take into account. '_Demons lie'_, he recounted the line he had told Sammy many times before. In his experience, this was all there was to it. Demons lie, so why should Cain be any different? It was true that the demon had spent the last few hundred years or so secluded in a house, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but could he assume the demon had also been truthful? What did receiving the mark of Cain mean for Dean?

Either Cain was lying, or he wasn't. And if he had been lying, then what? Would Dean slowly turn into a demon, somehow? Was he predestined to kill his little brother as Cain had done, as _his own father_ had warned him of being possible, all these years ago? Could he truly accept such a fact, after all those years of thinking he had finally escaped having to make that decision? Then again, if the demon had been telling the truth, Dean wouldn't really be that happy either. After all, how could he have that much in common with a demon, of all things? Demons lie. Dean snorted softly to himself. He ought to change his motto. After all, it weren't just demons that lied. He had lied a lot himself, still was lying to Sam in a way, by not telling him about exactly what had transpired on the search for the First Blade. Sam had lied to him, to Bobby, to everyone. Hell, Cas had lied to them, multiple times. And if an Angel of the Lord could and would lie, who wouldn't, really?

"Dean?"

"Dude, what took you so long?" Dean snapped, glad for the chance to rid himself of those dark thoughts, even though deep down he knew he had to get the answers to his questions eventually. "I'm starving!"

"There was a hold-up", Sam started to explain, even as he placed the take-out bags on the table. "Not my fault you wanted dinner from the most popular diner in just about the state. Got you your burritos, though".

"Gimme", Dean demanded, snatching the bag from the table. "You're forgiven, by the way", he added as an afterthought, not missing the eye-roll his brother sent his way.

He was honestly quite happy his brother had returned to the bunker. He still felt a little anxious whenever he had to let Sam out of sight, out of safety, no matter how often Sam would use the argument of being a grown man. The eldest supposed it had to do with his kid brother almost dying from the trials, then running around with an angel in his subconscious (and that totally was Dean's fault, but really, what choice did he have at the time?) and then having to risk dying all over again, because said angel had been forced to leave the building.

"Anything interesting happen while you were out?" he asked casually, taking a first bite from his dinner. Without conscious thought, he closed his eyes in pleasure at the taste. That was one awesome burrito, waiting time be damned!

"No, nothing", Sam managed to sound frustrated even without meaning to. "It's been quiet these last few days. What about you? Have you heard anything from Cas yet?"

Dean knew where this was going. Ever since Castiel had gone to find Gadreel, Sam would occasionally ask about the angel. Had Dean heard anything from him? Had he stopped by or called? Did Dean suppose he was doing okay? To be honest, Dean was starting to feel the slightest bit annoyed by all those questions. After all, it wasn't as if he and Cas were joined at the hip. Even more so, ever since starting this hunt for Gadreel his friend had become more distant, only occasionally calling Dean to give information, to report yet another dead end in his search. He hadn't once stopped by the bunker these past few weeks.

"Nope, nada. But you know how it is with Cas. He'll stop by sooner or later", Dean leaned back, seemingly lazily.

"Still he could've called", Sam bit out. "He's been at this for weeks, Dean! He, what? Called you just about three times?"

"Come on, Sam. What's this about, huh? Cas is a big boy, he can take care of himself, so don't worry your pretty little head over it".

If he doubted the sentiment of that statement, he did not let it show. Better to steer the conversation towards safe waters. If he let Sam start on about what their friend had been looking for, it would inevitably turn into a discussion about Gadreel, about past events, about what Dean had done. He couldn't face such a conversation right now, so it was better to keep it safe. Even if he had to lie a little bit to keep it that way.

Sam, however, wasn't that easily deterred. "Yeah, but still… He could update us on the situation. It's the least he could do!"

"Sam", Dean wanted desperately to put an end to this conversation. "I get it. You want to find Gadreel, I know. So do I. But if Cas hasn't picked up his trail yet, then he hasn't. We can sit here, and wonder, but what good does that do? We haven't made much headway in searching for the First Blade either, haven't we?"

"That's…" Sam began.

"What, different?" Dean interrupted him smoothly. "I say we make ourselves useful, at least until anything on those cases resurfaces. I'm done with sitting around".

"All right," Sam sighed, shoulders slumping. "You're right".

"I mean, we find us a case… Wait, what?"

"I said you're right. We've been spending way too much time cooped up inside here. Me, I'm all for a new hunt".

"Seriously?" Dean had not expected him to give in that easily. In the past, Sam would have insisted that they talk about everything, overanalysing every little thing Dean said, each frown upon his face. Arguing about each topic Dean wanted to deflect or ignore. Nowadays his little brother seemed more agreeable. Well, he seemed that way on most days at least, he corrected himself.

"Yeah. I'll go check in the morning whether there's a case nearby".

"I'd be nice to go on an old-fashioned ghost hunt, you know. Nothing complicated, just find the thing and burn the bones. Perhaps rescue a damsel in distress while I'm at it", Dean mused. "Get some action".

He smirked as Sam rolled his eyes, right on cue. Still know how to annoy Sammy, he told himself. No matter how much time would pass, some things never changed.

* * *

Eugene Warrick closed the door of his patrol car quietly and looked up to the landscape ahead of him. Ever since he could remember, the place had had a strange hold over him; it was an alluring and beautiful sight, though the man was well aware how dangerous it could be. More than once in his respectable career he had been responsible for coordinating search and rescue in the area, operating from the very place he stood now while trying to find some hiker who'd stupidly gotten himself lost in the wild nature. He had been young, then, and full of hopes and dreams. He'd gotten most of what he wanted over the years, but there were times when he still felt as if something was missing. It was in these moments that he found his thoughts straying to the area laid out before him. Here it was quiet, the bustling of town's life far behind him, somewhere at the end of the lone road on which his car now stood.

He liked to consider himself a simple man with simple needs and pleasures, but knew his wife would most likely disagree. Lately they had been getting into more arguments, and to Eugene it felt like his home had become a smothering blanket. The town he once loved felt more and more like a death trap with each passing day, a trap that just wouldn't let go. It hadn't been this way when they had first arrived there, young, in love and hoping to settle down. Perhaps he was just tired of it all now. He knew the people in town talked a lot. No matter how much they tried to keep up the pretence that nothing they did or said would become public knowledge, Eugene knew better. After all, he'd lived in the same town for close to twenty years now.

No matter how stifling town life could become though, he could always escape by coming here. The soft howling of the wind blowing through narrow passageways in the distance calmed his nerves as he breathed in the clear air. Lost in a trance he gazed out across the land, leaning back against the hood of his car. Eugene didn't know how long he stood there, thoughts scattering and he himself being lost in them; in the nature all around him. There was no evidence of mankind existing in this place, he mused, save for the car he leaned against and the clothes he wore. The place was ancient and he could almost taste it in the air. How small a human life seemed, compared to this, he thought reverently.

"Warrick, come in. You there?"

The CB in his car startled him out of his thoughts, his mood instantly souring. He ought to be getting back to work. The short reprieve had done nothing to make him feel better, after all. He could feel the familiar pressure of real life returning even as he clambered in the car; the weight of years slowing him down slightly. Wistfully he glanced back. Soon he'd be back here, he promised himself as he started the car. Who knows, perhaps one day he might attempt a hike in the area himself, though he bemusedly shook his head even as he thought of it. As if.

As he drove back towards his town, he did not notice the air behind him charging, as if a storm was coming, nor did he hear the wind picking up, carrying the words he'd thought seconds before like a mantra. It was like a whispered promise, an assurance from something seemingly otherworldly.

He'd be back indeed.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Dean jumped at the sound of the voice behind him. Blindly, he groped for the remote and quickly pushed a button, setting the television on whatever channel corresponded with it. Inwardly, he cursed himself. He should've paid attention to when Sam was coming back from his shower.

"Nothing", he hurried to defend himself. Immediately, he had to supress a wince. There was such a thing as too casual, after all.

Sam smirked knowingly and answered. "I saw that, you know".

"Saw what, Sammy?"

"You know".

"No, seriously, what?" he grinned.

"Come on, Dean! Oprah?"

"Shuddup, Sammy", Dean muttered, knowing he'd been caught once again. "It was the only thing that was on".

Sam opened his mouth, undoubtedly to give a scathing retort, but whatever he was planning to say was lost as a knock resounded through the room. Dean sat up and warily glanced at the door. Not a lot of people knew about the location of the bunker, never mind that there were people living in it, so visitors were practically non-existent. Visitors that announced themselves, at any rate. The brothers exchanged glances, and with a small nod Sam slunk away, out of sight. Dean stood up and apprehensively made his way to the door. The blond did not know what to expect. Was it a lost stranger, enemy, a grizzly bear with manners? Trying to be as silent as humanly possible, he picked up the shotgun that stood close, ever ready to shoot. The knock sounded again, more impatient this time.

"Here goes nothing", Dean muttered as he yanked open the door. The first thing he registered was a face, familiar but way closer than he'd expected. He jumped back in surprise. What the…

"Hello, Dean".

"Cas", Dean greeted. "Since when do you knock? Do you know how close you were to getting shot?"

The angel inclined his head, but did not offer further explanation. As Dean heard Sam coming up from behind him, having heard the words exchanged and having recognised Castiel's voice, he stepped aside to let his friend in, closing the door behind them and placing the shotgun back against the wall.

"Cas, where've you been?" Sam exclaimed. "We were getting a bit worried".

"I've been following up on a lead on Gadreel", Castiel said matter-of-factly. "It appears he has visited the state of South Carolina".

"Really? Well, and…?" Sam pressed on.

"He's not there anymore", the angel continued.

"So what are you doing here?" Dean shot a sharp look at his brother. Was it him, or did those words sound kind of harsh? Sam seemed to come to the same conclusion, for the long-haired brunet hurried to continue. "I mean, you've obviously been busy. What happened?"

The slight frown Castiel wore at his previous words did not disappear outright. "I haven't.." he started slowly, and shifted uncomfortably. "I just thought I should tell you in person".

Dean looked at Cas appraisingly. The angel looked kind of tired, he noted. Dark bruising was smudged under his eyes; his face was pale and drawn. His clothes had a rumpled look about them as well, even more so than usual. The appearance belied all his previous words to Sam, that Cas could take care of himself. The hunter sighed softly.

"Are you alright, Cas?"

"Of course", the angel inclined his head. It seemed to Dean as though he tried to stand up straighter, whereas before he had appeared to slightly hunch over to his left side. Dean frowned. Was he injured? "I have acquired another clue though, which tells me Gadreel might be looking for something important. I'll need to look up some information in the library though".

"What, and you're gonna do that tonight?" Sam asked.

Castiel nodded and started towards the room, which held most of the bunker's book collection. Dean exchanged a glance with his brother, mouthing 'what?'. Sam frowned.

"He's limping, Dean", he said as soon as the dark-haired angel had disappeared from view. "What the hell happened to him?"

"I don't know", Dean answered truthfully.

"So aren't you going to ask him?"

"And then what? I asked already". At Sam's look, he continued. "He said he's fine!"

His brother continued to just gaze at him, with a slight frown, wearing his 'are-you-serious-Dean?' face that the eldest had become overly familiar with during the years. Dean grumbled, but nonetheless set off after his friend. He didn't want to admit it, but he was worried as well. Didn't mean he was looking forward to this conversation though. And really, if Cas wanted them to know, he would have said something earlier, wouldn't he?

When he entered the room, Castiel was already searching intently through an old tome. The pages of the book had turned slightly yellow over the years, and now had a frail look about them, as though the slightest turn of the hand might rip them apart. Dean hadn't seen the book before, but then again, he wasn't one to know one old book from the other. Sam was the makeshift librarian amongst them, not Dean. The elder knew the importance of research, true, and would remember the stuff that he deemed important, but that didn't mean he wanted to memorize the entire library.

"So, what are you looking for?" Now that Dean was alone with Cas, he found himself hesitating.

"I don't know yet", the angel answered. "I believe he is looking for some kind of weapon, but what it is, or where it is I do not know".

"A weapon, huh? So what is it, some sort of secret weapon of Heaven? Do you think it's one of those things Balthazar stole?"

Cas simply looked at him. "I just said don't know, Dean. I'll see what I can find out and then tomorrow I'll start looking again".

"Wait, what?" Dean was taken aback. "Tomorrow already? Because I meant to ask you, are you sure you're alright? I mean, you look tired".

The angel opened his mouth, closed it, then seemed to change his mind about what he was about to say. "I'm fine".

"You don't look fine". Dean wasn't about to give up now. Even if there was a chance that nothing was going on with Cas, it didn't seem likely in the face of his hesitation to answer the question. "I mean, you look as if you haven't slept in a week, which might be true if you were still human, but you're not. You lean over slightly to the side, as if your ribs are bothering you, and Sam said you were limping. Now, are you going to answer the question? What happened?"

Castiel sighed, and fixed Dean with a level gaze. "Nothing happened, Dean. I was looking for Gadreel, didn't find him, and made my way back to this place. It's just…". Here he faltered, and Dean happily jumped in.

"Just what?"

"One of my brothers found me, when I was in South Carolina. He tried to kill me".

"Were you hurt?" Dean leaned forward. Castiel shook his head.

"Barely. I was able to get away, but I had to hurt him to do so". The angel sighed. "I'm just tired of it, Dean, tired of hurting my brethren, but there's nothing you can do about it".

The hunter didn't really know what to say to that. Sorry, it sucks that your family wants to kill you? Somehow he didn't think that answer would suffice. Dean cleared his throat.

"I eh... I'm sorry. At least you're okay, though". When Castiel remained silent, he continued. "The offer still stands, you know. If there's anything we can do…"

"I know Dean. But it's fine, I just want keep looking for Gadreel for now".

"And after that? You know, Sam and I are looking for a hunt. You can join us, if you want", Dean offered lamely. He wasn't yet entirely convinced that that was all there was to it. He saw the angel shake his head decisively, however, and disappointment immediately filled his chest. He should have known, he thought dejectedly.

"No, thanks. I'll be leaving shortly, as soon as I find what I'm looking for".

Dean nodded and backtracked to the kitchen. I'll talk to him in the morning, he promised himself. In the morning, he could try to talk some more sense in the angel. Perhaps Sam would even back him up on this. For all his words earlier about wanting to find Gadreel, he too still cared about Cas, after all. Yes, Dean concluded, in the morning they would find out what exactly was going on.

* * *

_A/N: Next chapter should be ready soon. Thanks for reading!_


	3. The First Arrival

**The First Arrival**

* * *

"So, get this…", Dean heard Sam mutter from behind his laptop. "Over the past year 6 men have disappeared in Hell's Half Acre alone".

"Really? Hell's Half Acre? Who'd name his town Hell's Half Acre?!" Dean said indignantly as he pulled down his tee, his hair wetting the collar. He quickly picked up his shirt and slid it on, covering the mark, before he walked out into the living room to meet Sammy in his search for a new case.

"Yeah, it seems pretty weird. Anyway, the police found zilch. No apparent connection between the victims – different ethnicities, different ages, hair colour, social class, different jobs, religions. Who- or whatever took them didn't leave any evidence behind", Sam said, folding his hand behind his head, stretching back. He must have been behind that damn thing far too long, Dean told himself. He was pretty sure his little brother had been up a long time and had since been searching the net for any signs of supernatural activity, while Dean himself rather enjoyed the comfort of his own bed as opposed to the motel room beds that soon would be their hideout again if, and it seemed so, Sam had found another case.

"Or they just suck at their jobs… As usual", Dean noted as he walked over to take a look at the newspaper Sam was reading. There was just a small piece of text in between advertisements for the divine light and heaven's grace, tucked away as if the editor didn't want this little insignificant looking piece of text to be read, but didn't have any other choice but to place it in this particular newspaper, on this particular day.

"How did you even find this in between all the halo-crap? I mean, this page is screaming divine propriety and heavenly wrath", Dean grinned at Sam while quickly reading through article.

A sixty-eight year-old accountant had disappeared from his home last Tuesday night, while his wife – soon to be ex-wife, Dean noted – had been staying with her sister after they reportedly had it out quite fiercely a few days earlier. The police had suspected the wife, but couldn't find any supporting evidence and thus had to let her go. Up to now nobody heard anything from the man and a hotline was mentioned at the bottom for any information one might have about the disappearance of the guy. No mentions of other disappearances or anything remotely supernatural for that matter.

"So…where are the other five people you are talking about?"

"Well, two young boys have disappeared a month ago, but they were listed as runaways, then two months before that a twenty-five-year-old drug addict went missing, but again, the police weren't too interested. A few months before that an African American male went missing. The police performed a minor investigation into his disappearance, but when the trail went cold, so went the investigation".

"Dude, it is only 8:30", Dean exclaimed bewildered.

"Dude, the day is halfway gone already", Sam replied with that know-it-all annoying look on his face, as he always did when he disapproved any factor of Dean's so treasured lifestyle. Like the time his little brother had found his first magazine of Busty Asian Beauties or when he got home at his 14 years of age with his beloved shotgun in one hand and a six-pack in the other. Even then he looked at him in that annoying way, the kid was barely ten years old! Dean was sure his baby-brother would never appreciate the little things in life as he does. He heard Sam's voice far away blabbering something about more disappearances in the neighbouring towns, but to Dean it sounded like an incoherent collaboration of words.

"So, I think we should check it out", Sam tore him out of his thoughts.

Check it out? Check what out?

"Dean?"

Right, the case his little brother had stumbled across during his morning hour search on the marvellous almost-never-ending information source called internet.

"Yeah, sure. First thing. After breakfast", Dean grinned as he walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a day-old burrito, which he had offered to Cas the previous day. The angel had politely declined however, since he wasn't quite fond of it anymore ever since he got his – well, a – grace back. The dude had barged in yesterday, early evening looking awfully anxious and bewildered, Dean honestly thought. He had looked exhausted and frightfully pale in his tainted coat and white shirt. Dean could've sworn he caught a glimpse of fear in the angel's mesmerizing deep blue eyes. Fine my arse, the dude looked everything but 'fine'. He was feeling a sudden burst of anger boiling up inside of him at the thought of how terrible the angel had looked and still claimed everything was alright. Should he bring Cas up? See what his brother was thinking? No, he was fairly sure Sammy felt the same way, but there was nothing they could have done to stop him from taking off again. The dude was determined to get back onto his lead. As soon as he had found what he was looking for he had left the bunker. Dean only hoped that he would come ask for help if he got into real trouble…

"You know, a greasy, heart attack inducing piece of junk food doesn't exactly count as breakfast". There was that look again to make him feel awkward and to make matters worse, Sam's elaborate description of his delicious burrito made him lose his appetite as well. Grouchy he made his way through the kitchen to find the little garbage bin on the other end and muttering he threw the burrito away.

"Fine, where to?"

* * *

"Hi there, my name is Dave Mustaine and this is my partner Jason Newsted", Dean spoke naturally while he showed his fake ID-card to the officer behind the front desk of the Hell's Half Acre police station.

It was only a small police station, with few staff members. There was an old wooden desk, immediately on your left-hand side when you entered through the front door. The officer behind it looked like he ate a little too much of the donuts which he was, quite unsuccessfully, trying to hide behind the counter. There was a picture on his desk, which held a beautiful woman, dark hair, and if Dean saw correctly, also dark eyes. There were two children, one about eight years old, standing next to the kneeling woman, who held the other boy, which must have been about four years old, in her arms, sitting on her knee. His wife and kids, was Dean's guess and when he looked at Sam he saw that he was thinking the same thing.

A little further up ahead in the small building were doors that most likely lead to a few offices, while on the right-hand side there were a few benches where people could sit and wait. Wait for what, Dean thought, to be brought to the executioner? To wait for justice? Or maybe for forgiveness to come down upon them. There was a little hallway that would lead to – only a few – holding cells all the way at the back of the building.

"What's FBI doing in a shitty little-hole-in-the-map place like this?" the officer behind the desk muttered grouchy.

"We're here regarding the disappearance of mister Mahony. We understand there haven't been many leads so far?" Sam inquired politely.

"Hm…", the officer mumbled as he got up and walked out before them into one of the offices. Sam and Dean followed and stood in the doorway. This office wasn't much bigger than a broom closet, but they even managed to fit a plant in the farther left corner of the room, not leaving any space to get out of behind the desk – which was placed right in front of it – from that side.

"Sandys, these agents are here about the Mahony-case", the officer said as he gestured toward Sam and Dean, standing behind him.

"Right. Thank you Eugene", a rough voice said. The voice suited the man it belonged to, tall, muscular, slightly older, grey at the hairline, evolving into a thick black coiffure. The man wore small, half round reading glasses, with a pink frame, which he took off as he got up from the chair to shake the brother's hands.

"Anthony Sandys", the man said with his raw voice. "So, you're here about mister Mahony. May I ask why this case draws the interest of the FBI?"

"Over the past few months there seem to have been more disappearances than just mister Mahony if I'm correct", Dean replied in a stoic manner that seemed to be coming more and more naturally with each passing year.

"If you count a missing crack-head and two teenaged runaways as 'disappearances', then I suppose you are right, but none of these ever caught the fed's attention. Anyway, we're glad you're here now, because we seem to be stuck. This man was a well-liked member of our community, he didn't have any debts or other misfortunes in his life, except for his little pow-wow with his wife a couple-a-days ago. If you'd ask me, they'd be getting a divorce soon".

"A divorce? What made their marriage go so sour?" Sam asked almost genuinely interested, with his best puppy dog eyed look.

"Who'd say? The man was always charming and appealing, to younger women as well. I think the old crook had a little snack on the side. Maybe even more than one, if you know what I mean", Sandys said with a mischievous grin.

"So, he was cheating on his wife?", Dean asked as he cleared his throat. "Do you by any chance happen to know with whom?" he continued as he glanced at his brother to see the same amused look as he had felt appearing on his own face.

"With whom?" the man laughed. "That would be Sheila Berrington, gentlemen. She has been around multiple times to file a complaint against mrs. Mahony for assault. The woman isn't right in her head if you'd ask me, first sleeping with someone else's husband and then complaining that the wife is harassing you".

Both brothers chuckled as they thanked the officer for his time and left the station.

* * *

Hell's Half Acre was a barren, desolate, vast canyon with steep slopes and stalagmite-like rocks, riddled with cracks where the rocks have been eroded away over the years by howling winds and torrential downpours; all of which made the whole view remind the Winchesters of Stonehenge on the moon, after they first laid eyes on the land they were about to discover. A land which was holding its own secrets and mysteries, never giving away what would be about to happen, always ferocious and abstruse to its own content.

Along the cruel territory was a lonesome winding dirt road, close to terrifying escarpments, which lead to the only motel and small diner, which held a magnificent view onto the vicious looking area. The only activity on this road on that Thursday late-morning was the arrival of a chrome detailed, well-polished black old fashioned police car, holding a Kansas licence plate, classic rock pounding from the car's insides, as it carefully drove along the narrow dirt road, up to the old diner at the end.

From afar a young woman stood gazing at the black Impala, making its way up the winding road, her long black hair dancing on the gusts of wind, as was her gown. She didn't blink once as she contemplated the scene before her eyes curiously, however, distraction was about to unfold, for a modern police car pulled up on a piece of land behind where she was standing, just as she had expected. She turned and moved closer to the vehicle as she watched a man step out from behind the steering wheel and make his way to a little remote cabin where a blonde-haired woman stood waiting for him in the doorway. She looked much younger than the man, who was reaching out to touch her rosy cheek and pressing his lips onto hers. She happily wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into the little cabin.

As the young woman stood there, watching the officer follow the blonde lady into the cabin, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her passionately, she felt a burning anger boiling up inside her, consuming her heart and soul; her ice cold, bright blue eyes lit up with a burning fire behind them and moments later she disappeared from where she was once standing, as if she had evaporated into thin air, vanishing from this existence.

* * *

"So, what do think we're dealing with?" Dean said through his double burger.

They had gone up to the old diner and sat behind a window, from where they could look out onto the beautiful territory of Hell's Half Acre. In the diner were only a few small tables with red-white chequered table cloths and little vases with single flowers in the middle of them. Surrounding the tables were old, wooden chairs, which were quite uncomfortable to sit on for too long. At the back of the diner was a small bar, where a mature, overweight, red-haired waitress was pouring in a cup of coffee for a former ranger. The waitress had told them that the seventy-five-year-old ranger had been long since retired, but when the men started disappearing he had immediately volunteered to be part of rescue parties and had gone out with them on every single search ever since. Admiration had been resonating through the sound of her voice as she had recounted the story to the brothers.

Afterwards, Dean had ordered himself an extra-large double burger with French fries and to his delightful surprise Sam had actually, on a rare occasion, indulged himself in Dean's fetish for greasy junk food as well.

"I'm not sure. According to the sheriff, Mahony cheated on his wife. We could be looking at a Woman in White".

"What? Again? Another one of those bitches?"

"Like I said, I'm not sure, but we might want to investigate that possibility".

"Well, at least that would mean that we have actually found ourselves a nice old-fashioned salt and burn case!" Dean said as a bright sparkle lit up in his eyes and a cheerful smile curled his lips. Maybe they would finally catch a break, after all this time, he thought, yet he was overcome with a melancholic feeling not long after.

* * *

Meanwhile, a great distance away from Wyoming, on top of the Living Shangri-La in the Canadian city of Vancouver, a mid-game assessment took place between two powerful players.

"I am afraid we lost track of him. We were closing in on him, but he somehow managed to get away and shake us off. It is not quite clear to me what happened exactly, but I believe Emanuel had found him, however, we seemed to have lost Emanuel subsequently".

"I can tell you do not see the importance of this individual. We need him to complete our spell. Without him, it will not work. We need him, alive".

"We are – I am – truly sorry, Metatron. We will find him again and bring him to you".

"Good, because I have it on good authority that Gadreel has been taking up on a solid lead to the weapon. He will fulfil his duty shortly and so should you, if you wish to go home".

The fluttering sound of wings was obscured by the high winds above the Canadian city.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Please, let us know what you think. Review?_


	4. Yankee White

**A/N: **So here's chapter three. Enjoy!

**To Ruxi23: **We're glad you're enjoying the story. As for what Gadreel is looking for, well, you'll find out in this chapter. Slight hint though: this is not the last time we'll be seeing Gadreel. There's going to be a whole lot more of Cas in the future, as well.

* * *

**Yankee white**

* * *

His greatest fear had become reality, for Gadreel had indeed been searching for the legendary weapon, which had been lost to all creation, including angels, ever since its last usage at the beginning of the Gregorian Calendar. Many had endeavoured to acquire this long-lost obscure artefact, but most of their presumptuous attempts have been in vain. During what humans called 'the second World War', Hitler's Nazi party had been strenuously searching for this implement of death and had indeed succeeded in its covert quest. Reading about this dreadful fact the night before in the bunker, cold chills had run down the angel's spine. Fortunately they had been ignorant to this armament's true powers and therefore, its influence on this event had been limited and this incident had been merely an insignificant occurrence in the grander scope. Of course, from the human perspective, this was a major tragedy, he knew.

Those blissfully cretinous humans had tried to transport this confounded weaponry by submarine, but the boat had been sunk by the Royal Air Force, dragging the antiquity down into the crushing depths of the Danish sea, which was once known as the Sinus Codanus. There it remained for some time, until members of the secluded order of the Knights Templar, working for the Intelligence Community, had been able to discover its whereabouts. Now this ancient weapon was in possession of the Templars once again, hidden at one of the most secure locations available on Earth.

"Mister Krushnic, you forgot your access card!" a female voice exclaimed as Cas walked towards what looked like a metal doorframe in the middle of the hallway. Right beside it was a counter with a smaller version of the metal frame, a conveyor belt running beneath it. People placed their bags onto the belt and then walked through the doorframe, where occasionally an alarm went off and the person that had just walked through it, was thoroughly checked by a guard.

He turned around to see a young woman running toward him with her hand reaching out to him, holding a small card, a little bit larger than an average bank card. When he had arrived he had picked a random name from the list of interns that he happened to overlook at the front desk, Dmitri Krushnic. By now he had learned to properly lie his way through life.

He smiled and took the card from the young woman. "Thank you".

He made his way to the metal gate, but was stopped by one of the guards standing behind it.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to take off your coat".

He stopped and took a moment to take in what the man had just said, looking vaguely at his trench coat and then back at the man. He slowly but surely slid off his coat and folded it neatly to place it in one of the baskets that were next the conveyor belt.

"The belt too, sir", he heard the guard's instructions and pulled that out of the pants' loops, rolled it up as much as possible and placed it on top of the trench coat in the little basket.

After the basket went through the small metal frame, he walked through the doorframe towards the guard on the other side.

"So, mister Krushnic is it?" the guard spoke and Cas just nodded. "Are you here for the internship program as well?" Another nod. "Well, after you've taken your belongings, the group assembles in the first room on your right".

As he jerked his belt back into his trousers and put his coat back on, he thanked the guard and made his way to the room the guard had appointed, his ankle still somewhat bothering him, but that had mostly healed, unlike the stinging pain he could still clearly feel in his ribs, radiating through his entire upper body. He gently rubbed his ribs, trying to ease the pain a little as he slightly limped into the room.

There were a couple more people there of various age groups and ethnicities. The room was not too big, but more than spacious enough for the assembled group. He found it to be a beautiful chamber, light, a little old-fashioned furniture, but the atmosphere was soothing. It actually reminded him of the location the angels had manufactured to keep Dean in until he was supposed to give in to Michael.

"Welcome to the White House", Cas was ripped from his thoughts by an enthusiastic male voice and turned to where the sound was coming from. An elderly man stood facing the group of people. He was not very tall, grey hair, a little bigger around the waist and he had a friendly face, the angel noticed.

"As you all know, the White House Internship Program provides a unique opportunity to gain valuable professional experience and build leadership skills. This hands-on program is designed to mentor and cultivate today's young leaders, which would be you, strengthen your understanding of the Executive Office and prepare you for future public service opportunities", the man continued his speech.

He rambled some more about what a great honour they had been given to have the opportunity to take part in this unique internship program and how they may even get a chance to meet the President of the United States. Cas, however, wasn't too interested in meeting the president. He had another mission, which he really needed to attend to. He couldn't just leave the group at this time, though, he would have to wait until they started moving around, so he could get away unnoticed. He hoped that was sooner rather than later and then he hoped it wasn't too late already…

* * *

"And now we will make our way to the Oval Office", he could still hear the man say, even though he had already separated from the group and moved into another hallway.

After the man had finished his speech, he would show the group around in the White House and have them meet the most important people. At the end of the tour, they would all be assigned to a mentor. Cas considered himself fortunate that the real mister Krushnic had failed to show up yet, but he was sure he hadn't much time, for he could arrive any minute.

He was certain there should be an elevator around here, leading to a subterranean complex, from where the president would continue in office in times of terror, or so he had heard. What many, however, didn't know, was that there was another layer of the complex beneath it, where all kinds of obscure operations were devised.

Cas was sure that the weapon would be kept somewhere down there. He walked through a maze of hallways; always making sure nobody followed him and eventually found a heavily bolted set of doors, which looked like they could be the doors of an elevator. As he got closer to the doors he found there was a button next to it to go down, so behind the heavily bolted doors must be the elevator he was looking for.

He pressed the button, but nothing happened. Then he realised he needed an access card for the elevator doors to open, so he held his card in front of a magnetic reader. Nothing again. He would need a card from a higher-ranking employee to open up the doors. He really didn't have time to go looking for someone holding the right access card, he thought as he decided what to do next. Then he heard two people talking a little further down the hall and took cover around the corner. He heard the voices coming closer, but then they remained at the same distance for a bit. He heard a door open and close and one set of footsteps closing in now.

* * *

"So, are we going for a hike during the lunch break?" Johnny asked Erik as they walked through the hallway.

"No, not today. I have some important work to finish for the big chef", he replied as he gestured to the big stack of papers and files that were laying in his left arm on top of the dark blue sleeve of his suite.

Johnny had always been a big fan of walking outdoors for a bit while on lunch break, Erik knew, but today he had a lot of work yet to be done and therefore didn't have time to go walking about DC. They have finally had a breakthrough in their search for the perfect biological agent, after months only finding a big pile of nothing. Somehow it always seemed to have a huge flaw, a weakness for one or more conventional ways of destroying objects of terror. Now he was sure, they were one step ahead of the world. This agent was not only super-efficient, but also held the possibility of adapting itself extremely rapidly to changing surroundings. Today they would have a little field test to see if it was as good as the scientist had been promising them. He smiled at the mere thought of it.

"Too bad, I think I will be going anyway though", Johnny said as they stopped in front of a door on their right side. His colleague's office, Erik knew and he took a step forward, not to stand right in front of the door.

"Well, good luck then", Johnny said and walked through the door.

"Thanks", he replied and walked on toward the double steel door at the end of the hallway. When he reached the elevator, he took his access card from the pocket inside his jacket and held it in front of the magnetic reader. The elevator button turned green and he pushed it, after which the doors opened. He stepped in and pressed the button to go all the way down to the lowest floor.

"Good morning, mister Clark, please provide identification", a gentle female voice sounded from the elevator's speakers. Erik arched his head towards a little round scanner and held his eye in front of it.

"Thank you, have a nice day", the female voice said and Erik turned towards the doors, only to find a man standing very closely in front of him, dark hair, blue eyes, wearing a tainted trench coat, reaching out to touch his head. The sudden sight of this man had filled him with fear, but before he could think of anything else, the world turned black.

* * *

The elevator closed behind him with a dull sound and he felt himself taking a deep breath while turning around to face the doors. He slowly stepped backwards to lean against the back of the elevator as it gently started moving downwards. An unpleasant oppressive feeling overwhelmed him and his hands started to feel clammy as he held onto the railing behind him, his hands involuntary squeezing it tighter than he meant to. The elevator passed the first floor down, slowly moving further. His head was getting cloudy, his sight a little blurred and he found it was getting harder to breathe. He kept looking at the little screen above the elevator, which now indicated that they had reached the intended floor and he felt the elevator coming to a halt. A sensation of relief ran through his body as the steel doors in front of him opened and he started pulling the unconscious man out of the elevator, but half way he dropped him, a painful burning sensation running through his upper body. His nearly collapsed, but managed to stabilise himself against the doorway. He took a couple of deep breaths and took a quick look around. There was nobody in the hallway.

He needed to hide the middle-aged man, the little hair remaining on his head had already grown white and he was wearing an expensive dark blue suit. He looked around him, but didn't find a room or closet nearby. Looking back up at the elevator ceiling he noticed a hatch. He dragged the man back into the elevator and pushed him through the hatch, biting the severe pain these actions caused away, breathing heavily. When he finally managed to get the man on top of the elevator, he closed the hatch and leaned against the side of the elevator for just a moment, regaining his composure.

As he walked out, he got a chance to take a proper look around. The elevator was located in a long corridor, white walls, grey floor. There were a few corridors diverging from the one he was standing in. The weapon he had been searching for, would be hidden somewhere on this floor of the subterranean covert complex.

These kinds of ancient armaments would leave behind a certain aura, somewhat of a fingerprint, wherever they were or have been present; an aura that could be divined by superior entities like the celestial being he was.

Here he could sense an aura, but it was much weaker than he had expected it would be. Nevertheless, he would be able to track it down. He walked along different corridors, passing people, but no one would second guess his being there, for he walked with certainty and determination toward his goal, which made it look like he belonged there.

He finally reached a secured vault and he knew this was the source of the armament's aura, this was the place they would be keeping the weapon. He only had to find a good way to open the vault's door. Strength-wise, of course, he would be able to pull the door out of its hinges, breaking its locks and security system, but he knew that would set off all alarms and the place would go to lock-down, which was not something he sought to happen. Instead he found there to be another magnetic card reader and a combination lock. By simply touching the device, Cas was able to read the correct code, which he then entered into the security system. He used the elevator-man's access card to open the vault and he stepped inside.

The vault was filled with antiquities, old scrolls of parchment and ancient volumes. It was a little similar to the library back at the bunker, Cas thought, as he walked through the vault. These scrolls and tomes were part of the library of Alexandria, he concluded, as he looked at them, filled with wonder. Most of the collection had been lost since the destruction of the library in the early ages. Somehow the American government had been able to retrieve many works and keep it in the dark.

Voices down the corridor ripped his curiosity away from the writings. He quickly searched the vault and found the exact spot where the aura originated, but the weapon had been long gone. He had arrived too late…

* * *

"Metatron", the angel spoke as he walked up to the tiny looking man, but the angel knew better, for he was the highest of all angels, handpicked by God himself and for that, the angel had the deepest respect.

"Gadreel, have you been able to obtain the arcane artefact?"

"I have indeed acquired the artefact", Gadreel said as he held out a long item, wrapped in pale-brown linen.

Metatron took the item from his hands and gave an appreciative nod, for the angel had done a superb job. This beautiful, but destructive antiquity would prove itself powerful once again in due time, Metatron thought as he felt its strong aura radiating and he smiled.

* * *

_A/N: So, what do you think? Love it, hate it?_


	5. Pandora's Box

**A/N: **Special thanks to Ruxi23 again, for reviewing our story.

We would really like to hear what other readers think about the story this far as well. So if you have any suggestions or tips to improve our writing, or if you simply want to let us know how you feel about the story, please review. It motivates us to keep writing! :-D

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

* * *

"We're sorry to bother you, ma'am", Sam spoke sincerely as soon as the door had opened, "but we're here to ask you some questions about your husband, Eric, and the night he disappeared. I'm Jason Newsted and this is my partner, Dave Mustaine". He gestured towards Dean, who showed the woman his FBI badge as well.

Cady Mahony was a slight woman, with long red hair framing her face, trailing down to fall over her shoulders. If Dean were to guess, he would have estimated her to be in her early thirties, perhaps slightly older. Right now, she clearly hadn't been counting on receiving any visitors, or so the sweatpants and loose sweater she was wearing indicated. They were standing in the yard of a small but well-kept house in one of the town's nicer neighbourhoods. It wasn't the house Mahony had stayed in prior to his disappearance, Dean knew. Instead, this house was owned by Cady's sister, who, according to the police case file, was a few years younger and an elementary school teacher. Right now, Dean knew, she wasn't at home, nor was the sister's husband, and it showed in the way that Cady was distrustfully keeping the door slightly closed, ready to slam it shut at the first sign of trouble.

"I already talked to the police a few days ago, what more do you want from me?" she spoke up angrily, a guarded expression framing her petite face.

"Please, may we come in? We would just like to check some of our facts, and ask a few more questions that the police may not have thought of previously. We believe your husband's case may be similar to the other disappearances we've been investigating".

Reluctantly, the redhead opened the door further to let them in. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. This part of playing FBI was always the hardest, as far as he was concerned. Once the people were convinced you were the real deal, they would let you get away with asking strange questions, most of the time anyway. Gaining enough trust to be able to do so was the key to it, and it proved difficult regardless how often they had done so before. No matter how many difficulties Cady and her husband had faced in the past, the woman was clearly grieving and as such wary to dredge up the entire story again.

"So, you got a way of finding the bastard yet? I want my papers signed".

Then again, maybe grieving didn't quite cover it.

"Mrs Mahony, did you notice anything unusual about your husband in the days before he disappeared? Did he behave strangely, maybe in a way that was unlike him?" Dean asked.

"Besides sleeping with that skank from the Berrinton family? No, I don't think so. Then again, who knows? It wasn't as if he was talking with me". She snorted derisively. The brothers exchanged looks. Now what?

"What about your house? Did you notice anything out of place in the house, cold spots or anything?"

"No, I didn't", Cady frowned. "Do you think somebody was watching him? Everything seemed normal, I guess. Well, except that I found out about his little affair and we are getting a divorce as soon as he returns and signs the damned papers".

Dean nodded and from the corner of his eyes he saw Sam do the same. "What about the night he disappeared? What happened then?" his brother spoke up.

"Well, he'd gone to work in the morning. Never mentioned anything to me about going somewhere at night. Actually, he even called me after work to say he was coming home".

"And when was that?"

"Look, shouldn't you know this already?" the woman asked, stopping her explanations to glare at them suspiciously.

"We do, actually", Sam reassured her. "We're just fact checking, really".

"Very well then, I talked to him around five thirty in the afternoon. I wasn't really worried at first, you know? He was prone to driving around for a bit, touring the country side as he called it. At least, that's what he always told me. When he never came home that night, I called the police".

"And you were still living in the same house then?"

She shook her head. "No, I wasn't. I had been waiting for him at our old home, to talk with him about getting divorced and he knew it. I returned to my sister's place for the night when he didn't show up, and went back in the morning".

"So how did you know he never came home?" Dean leaned forward.

He's not one to get up early. I have lived with him for more than a decade, I should know". She pointedly spoke. "Look, I don't know what more to tell you. I already told the police everything and frankly, I want nothing more to do with this. It's hard enough knowing he was sleeping around behind my back".

For the first time in the course of the conversation, her voice trembled with emotion as she spoke. Dean knew they shouldn't push her any further, as did Sam. Simultaneously, they stood up, effectively ending the questioning.

"Alright, that's all. Thank you for your time", Sam politely said. Cady nodded and, with a polite but forced smile, shook hands and told them to have a nice day.

"So, what do you think? Do you suppose she's telling the truth?" Dean asked as soon as Cady had closed the door. To him, the woman mostly just seemed angry and upset at her husband. For a fleeting moment, Dean entertained the notion that she might've caused the disappearance of the guy herself, but then just as quickly dismissed the thought. It didn't seem likely in the face of the other incidences in the area.

"I don't know yet", his brother answered pensively. "It seems to be the case, but then again, she is angry at the guy. And worried as well, probably, even though she doesn't want to show this".

"It looks like there might be a Woman in White active, you know. The one we took down in Jericho seemed to pick whoever travelled past her highway. And Mahony was returning from his work, so we know he vanished somewhere between there and here. Also, the other victims are all from different places, but they disappeared when travelling as well", Sam continued.

Dean nodded, and opened the door of his car. "Could be. We don't know for sure though. So, what do you want to do next? Talk to the family of the other guys?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah, I think they'll tell the same thing as Cady, and the woman we visited yesterday. No strange happenings around the house, nothing. So, I suppose we should hit the library. See if there are any violent deaths in the history of this town".

"Oh, joy", the eldest muttered, as he started the car and turned it back to the town's small centre, where the library was located. The Impala's tires screeched across the pavement as he roughly drove away. He hated research.

* * *

Dean sighed as he leant back into his chair, stretching out his arms behind his head as he did so. He spared a quick glance at the clock and heaved an even bigger sigh. They had been at this for two hours already, and so far they had found nothing. It seemed if there ever was a town where the people were dull and nothing shocking or violent ever happened, they had found it. The irony of the situation didn't escape him. A town right next to a place called Hell's Half Acre, where nothing exciting ever happened. What were the odds? The closest the hunters had come to finding their Woman in White was the case of Emily Brighton, a twenty-five year old bartender who found out that her high school sweetheart, whom she had just married, was sleeping with her best friend. She committed suicide and, being in an early stage of pregnancy, she had unknowingly killed her unborn child. Was that enough to create a Woman in White? Dean doubted it.

"It doesn't make any sense", he heard his brother mutter from where he was seated at the table. "There is no mention of anything that could create a Woman in White. Even the victims themselves don't make much sense".

"What do you mean? They were all men, they all cheated on their wives", Dean snapped. Hours of researching had made him tense and frustrated.

"Yeah, but those two boys? They were eight years old for crying out loud, probably didn't even have a girlfriend yet".

"Well, maybe they did. Or maybe they really did run away, just like the cops said".

"I don't know," Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "Cheating on their girlfriends might be a possibility, but it seems a bit, well, petty, doesn't it? When you compare it to the others? Especially considering that relationships on that age mostly consist of being best buddies?"

"Do you think a ghost cares about petty crimes, Sam?" Dean asked roughly. "Besides, didn't dad always say that those bitches had a special bond with children, and would sometimes even go as far as taking them with them?"

"I suppose so. Some folk tales have described a Woman in White as 'walking the country at night in a bloody dress, crying out for her murdered children'. These tales go on to describe that if she finds any child, she's likely to 'carry it away with her to the nether regions, where her own spirit dwells'", Sam quoted. "So they sometimes are described as child takers. But still, what about the violent death that's supposed to happen? We didn't find anything on any women dying violently here, after killing her kids. So how do we explain that?"

"Well, that we couldn't find it doesn't mean it's not there. Could be there just wasn't anything published about it, which wouldn't surprise me really. Secrets like that, well, who would want that written about them? I say we keep digging 'till we find something that points in some direction".

"I agree, but still. The timeframe is very small, which would suggest a recent death or suicide of a woman to have happened, but it's just not there. These kinds of ghosts don't take a vacation, Dean, or decide after decades of rest to suddenly start killing. Also, the number of disappearances is way higher than usual in these cases".

"So it could be something else?"

"Could be", Sam agreed. "We just need to keep searching, until we find something that tells us what we're dealing with".

"Right", Dean drawled as he looked at his brother. Sam didn't pay him any attention though, instead rifling through the papers Dean recognised as the case files they'd conned the cops into handing over. The eldest rolled his eyes. Of course Sammy wouldn't listen to his older brother; after all, there were papers in front of him, with letters on them that formed words. What could possibly be more exciting than that? Dean very much doubted the younger man would notice a herd of elephants stampeding through the room, once he truly got into reading all that crap.

"Dean, get this. The drug addict..."

"What drug addict?" Dean interrupted, wearing a puzzled frown. What did drugs have to do with the case?

"The one I told you about earlier". Sam glared at him and continued. "That guy, he vanished as well. But according to this, he didn't have a girlfriend at the time. Loads of dates with different girls, but no steady relationship".

"Could be he's lying dead in a ditch somewhere from OD'ing, had a bad trip and moved to Mexico, or whatever. Perhaps that one's unrelated to the case. Hey, maybe he cheated in the past. I'm pretty sure that counts, too".

"Not according to this. But Dean, if he disappeared because whatever we're hunting got to him, and he didn't have a girlfriend, didn't cheat at all, we could be dealing with something else".

"We'll see", Dean looked at the clock. It was nearly five pm already, he was tired of researching and besides, he knew for a fact that the library was almost closing up for the day. Not that he had checked the opening hours, but by the way the little old lady behind the desk near the entrance had steadily been glaring at them for the past fifteen minutes, he knew they had probably overstayed their welcome. "But not now, we've been here for hours and I'm starving!"

* * *

He was running as fast as his legs could carry him. The man had never felt fear like this, urging him on over the small path through the canyon. The structures that rose beside him appeared dark and foreboding in the light of the setting sun, but he paid no mind to the beauty of the nature around him as he normally would have done. The rocky landscape, that once before appeared so beautiful to him, now seemed to hold a dark promise. You're never getting out, it seemed to tell him. She's gonna get you, it seemed to mock. He didn't know where she was; if she still was behind him or if she would emerge from one of the shadows cast upon the path in front of him. A laughing whisper filled the air, faint but echoing clearly through the canyon, making it hard for him to determine from where it came.

Terror flooded the police officer. Eugene stumbled, hand shooting out to keep him upright and moving. He didn't even feel it as the hard rock scraped the first layer of skin from his palm, nor did he feel the warm sensation of blood running over his fingers, however, the thing that was chasing him noticed; for a bark of excited laughter escaped her.

Why, why did this have to happen to him? The officer didn't understand, but didn't stop to think about it. Wild fear had long since taken a hold of him, leaving no room for conscious thought. Instead, a mantra of 'run, run, RUN RUN RUN' was pounding through his head.

'You can't hide', the voice mocked somewhere on the right. 'You can't run'.

In response, Eugene tried to put even more speed in his steps. His flight came to a sudden and abrupt stop, however, as his feet suddenly left the ground.

The middle-aged officer felt gravity pulling his body down the steep slope, rolling and rolling until he came to a harsh stop against one of Hell's Half Acre's famous stalagmite-like structures. Pain flooded his senses and stars erupted behind his closed eyelids. Frozen in terror, he stayed down, hoping against all odds that she would stay away.

Soft footsteps sounding through the otherwise silent canyons made Eugene force his eyes open. Dazed, he stared up to the figure in front of him, the rising dark of night blurring her features. An unrecognisable feeling shot through the man. 'This is it', he thought. 'This is what death looks like'.

"Why?" he managed to find his voice to ask. The thing (for it could not be anything other than a thing, he refused to think of it as human) answered him, humour laced through her melodious voice.

"Because you deserve it".

He didn't have time to scream.

* * *

Rock music blared through the speakers of the small yet profitable pub in the town's small centre, the words to the current song lost to the ears of the people gathered in the bar. The various conversations floating around the room drowned out most of the music; the background noise that occurred when many people attempt to converse simultaneously a constant buzz in Dean's ears. The atmosphere was considerably relaxed, yet an undertone of tension remained noticeable. This feeling was not uncommon to the hunter. Very often he had felt this kind of tense anticipation, as was common in small villages where people disappeared without warning. It was a sense of excitement and fear: lives which had felt chronically dull were shaken up, and gossip suddenly flew everywhere. Mostly it was about the men that had vanished, or their family. Did you know that he was sleeping with his secretary? How's his wife holding up? In his head, Dean could vividly imagine the conversations. Yet a sense of fear filled up the atmosphere as well, for who knew when you could be next?

Tonight, the hunter didn't want to think about the case though. He took a long sip from his beer and looked around the place. Across the room, he could see Sam talking to a couple of guys, undoubtedly discussing their victims and fishing for new information. Dean ruefully shook his head. His brother was like that, all work and no play. At least, he was like that whenever he visited a bar.

"Are you listening to me?" a voice shook him out of his thoughts, and he refocused on the woman in front of him.

"Of course. So, what happened then?"

She had been telling him all about her time in the city of Angels, when she had been trying to make it as an actress. Though Dean held no particular interest in the story and she obviously had failed in her attempts, he ran his gaze appreciatively over her body. She certainly had the looks to make it as an actress, he noticed right away. Long black hair framed her face and fell straight down to her lower back. She was beautiful, no doubt about that. Large, bright blue eyes looked out from under thick lashes and Dean found he really couldn't stop looking at her full, lipstick-covered lips, which were moving as she talked.

"And he told me my acting was horrible, can you imagine that?"

"Unbelievable", Dean muttered. She nodded vigorously.

"I agree. So, naturally I told him…"

"So why didn't you take up modelling? You look like you could be a model", Dean broke her story off. For a second, Dean thought he could see a predatory look flash through those eyes, but it vanished before he could properly identify it, and the woman preened under his attention instead.

"Well", she started. Before she could start of on another story, the ringing of a cell phone going off interrupted her.

"Hang on", Dean searched through his pockets for his phone. He frowned slightly at the number on the display, and picked up.

"Cas", he began. "Now is really not a good time…"

"Dean", the gravelly voice on the other end of the line began, "I've found out some things, it's important".

"Alright, what is it?" the hunter asked. Beside him, he could sense the black-haired beauty shifting restlessly. Silently, he cursed his friend for his timing.

"I'll tell you in person, it's safer. Where are you now?"

Dean turned slightly and softly answered to prevent being overheard. Though the bar was loud, and he had to strain his ears to understand what Cas was saying, you could never be careful enough, he reasoned.

"We're in Wyoming, Hells Half Acre. Won't be difficult to find, there's one motel at the edge of town, room eight".

"I'll be there", the angel promised.

"Yeah, alright, see you soon", Dean told him, voice returning to a normal volume. He hung up and put his phone back. He then turned to the woman with an expectant smile on his face, which disappeared when he saw the murderous glare she was aiming at him.

"Cas? What, is she your girlfriend or something? Are you trying to cheat on her?" she demanded, voice rising with the beginnings of anger. "You think I'm that cheap, that I would just sleep with you while you got somebody keeping your bed warm at home?"

"No, not at all", Dean exclaimed startled. "_He_'s a friend of mine".

She looked at his face for a long moment, as if she was gauging whether he was telling the truth. Finally, she nodded and immediately seemed to calm down. "You don't have a girlfriend", she concluded resolutely.

"No, I don't". Dean shook his head ruefully. Women. They were all psycho.

"So, you want another drink?" he offered, trying to fill the awkward silence that had started after Cas' phone call. She shrugged, eyes straying to glower at the back of the pub, and Dean decided to take that as a yes, still unconvinced that the dark look which had returned to her eyes had to do with him. He turned to the bar and waved at the barkeeper.

"One beer, one Martini please. Dry, no ice".

When he had ordered, and paid for the drinks, he turned back. There was no sign of the black-haired woman. Frowning, he searched the room with his eyes. It was crowded, yes, but not crowded enough that he wouldn't be able to spot her easily. She simply wasn't there, wasn't sitting in one of the booths lining the far wall, nor was she standing in the crowd around the bars only pool table. She couldn't have gone to the bathroom, the door was to the left of the bar, and Dean was sure he would have noticed if she had gone that way. It was as if she'd vanished into thin air. Frowning, he made his way to Sam, who was still standing with the group of guys near the exit, the two drinks in his hand.

"Have you seen a woman pass by?" he asked as he pushed the Martini unceremoniously in his brother's hand.

"What, the supermodel type?" one of the guys interjected as Sam shook his head. "She left, man. And she wasn't alone. I saw Jerry exit soon after her".

Dean frowned. "What, like he was following her?"

The guy shook his head. "No, man. He's not like that. More like, discretely leaving with him. They had been talking earlier tonight".

"Though luck", one of the others said to Dean.

The blond sighed. He could sense the laughter in the look Sam sent him, and knew he would be hearing about this for a while.

"Looks like you were stood up", his brother teased.

Yeah, he would be hearing about this, indeed. For a very, very long time.

"Alright, shut up and let's go home, Sammy", Dean growled, good mood ruined for the night. He had been sure she had been checking him out during their conversation. Could he be wrong? Or didn't she believe him, when he told her he honestly didn't have a girlfriend? He drank the last of his beer and put the empty glass on a table near him. With a glance at Sam, both brothers left the bar, stepping out onto the pavement of the well-lit parking lot. A light drizzle had started falling down from the sky, in contrast to the sunny, bright day that preceded it; soon the weather would fully turn. Dean tried to reassure himself as they started the trek back to the motel, still feeling sore about coming second to a loser named 'Jerry'. They would have to get up early the next day, he reasoned, so it probably was for the better he didn't go out with the girl. The sting of her running out on him didn't let off, though. Briefly, he wondered if he had said something to scare her off, then abruptly cut of that trail of thought. Her loss, anyway, he thought smugly to himself.

Though the hunters didn't know it at the time, somewhere miles away, in a dark, damp cave far from modern society, Eugene Warrick reawakened, his eyes wide open yet forever unseeing.


	6. The Assassination of Lincoln

_New chapter.. Enjoy!_

* * *

**The Assassination of Lincoln**

* * *

A burning stab of pain ran through his upper body, as he felt the tip of the long silver double-edged dagger slice into the skin right beneath his left arm. He had managed to avert the attack; if he hadn't, he was sure the blade would have cut clean into his torso, most-likely resulting in a lethal wound. As he fell over and grabbed his ribs in agony, he witnessed the blade flying out of his attacker's hand. The pain was excruciating, much worse than it should be, he fleetingly thought, as he crawled towards the blade, but before he could reach, his attacker kicked him in his guts and he rolled over, trying to get away from the attacker's reach. The action was in vain though, for he was grabbed by his coat and lifted off the ground. He could now look his attacker in the eyes, his vision still blurred and his lungs filling with blood. Nonetheless he realised those eyes belonged to his brother, Emanuel, and fear filled his entire being.

_Castiel…_

"W-why?", he managed to stutter through the blood clogging his throat. His head was spinning and he heard his brother laughing, but it was a dull noise, a distant laughter seeming to come from far away. He slammed into something really hard behind him. A tall tree, he noted woozily. Then, just within his reach, he saw something glistering from the corner of his eyes, a long silver shape, he would only have to reach out his hand. He grabbed the dagger and pushed himself upwards, holding on to the tree behind him and then he felt his brother's presence right beside him, grabbing him. In reflex he drove the dagger into his brother's chest. A blinding light of pure white escaped from Emanuel's orifices as the dagger pierced his heart.

_Castiel…_

* * *

"Castiel…"

He slowly opened his eyes and needed some time to focus, the memories of before fading to the back of his mind. His head was spinning and he felt sick to his stomach as he regained his breath. The radio that had been playing in the car moments before had stopped and he could see smoke coming from the car's engine. He was still strapped up tightly in the seatbelt, which he had found very useful when Hael had tried to kidnap him all those weeks ago.

He could feel blood dripping from his forehead; his arms were hanging weakly beside his body. He slowly lifted his right arm, unbuckled his seatbelt. Gravity pulled him forward onto the steering wheel, and he clumsily tried to open the car's door. His attempts were in vain. The door had been crushed into the frame and although he normally would have no problem pushing it back out, right now his strength had failed him and panic raced through his body. He had to get out of this confinement, and soon too, if he didn't want to be a sitting duck. He found it harder and harder to breathe and with every breath he could feel a burst of pain radiating from his ribs. His head felt cloudy and the world seemed to be fading out regularly.

Only then did he realise the passenger's side door had been ripped from its hinges and he crawled towards the gap, pushing himself out of the vehicle, falling to his knees on the hard, stone cold ground, feeling the drizzle on his face. His headache lessened somewhat by the cool water, as he turned his attention towards the car, or what remained of it.

The whole front had been crushed, the upholstering torn from its frame. The champagne coloured sheet metal had been crumpled as if it was made of tin foil and the right front wheel was missing completely.

He felt his knees and hands wetting in the watery mud he had landed in; mud that was mixed with oil and gasoline leaking from the busted carter and gas tank. His vision had cleared a little and he realised the car had slammed into a gigantic rock, after it had been run off the road by the large, black pick-up truck that had been chasing him for the last couple of miles. The only reason he hadn't flown out of the car down into the ravine below was the seatbelt. It had very well nearly choked him on impact, though.

He slowly crawled back up to the road through the brown-coloured streams that were running downhill, coughing and blood dripping into his eyes. His breathing stuttered momentarily, due to a blinding pain running through his chest and, in anguish, he fell to the ground and felt himself sliding back down the hill. Instinctively, he grabbed his ribs. It took him a few moment to catch his breath and refocus on his surroundings. He repressed the agony and slowly started his way back up again. He needed to get up, get away.

"Castiel…", a familiar voice approached him the moment he got to the road and he managed to get to his feet, looking up to whoever the voice belonged to in apprehension. He managed to heal the internal damage that had been done to his body by the car crash, but he found himself too weak to heal all of the exterior wounds as well.

A red-haired woman, who seemed to be in her forties, wearing a pair of jeans and a homemade woollen sweater, was approaching him. She seemed like an ordinary woman, but Cas knew better, knew how dangerous she really was, for he could see her true form behind the face of the vessel she was possessing.

"You have been one hard angel to find, but you cannot run forever", she grinned as an angel blade appeared in her right hand. "Look at you, you are one big mess", she sneered.

Cas could see the cuts and bruises on his hands, where glass from the windshield that had shattered in the crash had sliced into them. He had felt blood running down his cheek, leaving drops hanging on his chin, which had now been subjected to gravity. His head was pounding and he reached out to it, trying to lessen the pain, however it did not seem to help. Looking at his hand, he found it came back tainted with crimson blood.

"A car crash will do that to you, Ariel", he replied as he tried to remain upright, despite the fact that his legs kept threatening to crumble beneath the weight of his body. "What do you want from me? Why are you here? I have already tried to explain, I had no idea what Metatron was up to, I thought I was fixing Heaven", he spoke, his voice hoarse and breathing heavy.

He could feel a presence approaching him from behind and his muscles tensed up, his blade appeared from up his sleeve and he wrapped his hand around it tightly. In a split second he whirled around to face the figure that had appeared behind him and drove his dagger between his ribs. He pulled it back out as he watched the grace extinguish from the angel's eyes. Turning back to Ariel he realised she wasn't where she had been earlier.

In reflex he slammed the angel blade that was stabbed towards him out of its intended path, thus avoiding Ariel's attack. He felt his ribs scrape as Ariel rammed her knee into his stomach and blood filled his lungs, forcing the air out, making it feel as if he was drowning. He bent over in pain, retching for a moment, the taste of bile and blood filling his mouth. A forceful cough overtook him as blood dribbled from his mouth, causing an all-consuming agony emanating from his ribs. He realised he had to somehow mend his wounds or he would surely bleed to death, but his grace had been mostly repressed. He wouldn't stand a chance against Ariel if he summoned his last ounce of strength to stop the bleeding, so either way, he would be dead. The coughing and the pain it was causing, was getting too much to bear and he knew he didn't have a choice, he had to fight.

He managed to get to his feet soon after, lashing out at the angel, but his attempt failed and he almost fell over again, but managed to remain standing. Another angel appeared aside him and he felt a burning pain running through his entire body. The angel had driven a dagger into his side. In anguish he fell to his knees, tears of pain stinging his eyes. He then felt his body lifting from the ground and smacking into the cliff on the other side of the road.

The impact of the hard, unforgiving rock with his back caused his vision to white out. The cold rain numbed his senses even more as he laid stunned on the muddy ground against the large wall of rock. The smell of the gasoline on his clothes pierced through his nostrils, magnifying the nausea, caused by the knee in his stomach he received earlier. His clothes, tainted with oil and gasoline, stinging on his bruised skin, intensified the already excruciating pain from the stab wound in his side and his crushed ribs that was radiating through his body.

Numbness slowly subsided from his limbs as he watched the angels approach through his blurred vision. He cowered as terror filled his entire essence. He shivered as a cold wind picked up and he tried to get up. He had to get away, but his body was too weak to even move. In fear he watched the two blurry figures come closer and closer until his vision turned black.

* * *

From afar she bore witness to the intriguing game between the two vehicles travelling on the deserted road which led to the barren grounds of Hell's Half Acre. The first one was an old-looking champagne-coloured car, followed by a larger black pick-up truck, moving with tension as if they were dancing a tango. Sometimes the old car managed to outrun the pick-up truck, but it never managed to leave it far behind; the truck always caught quickly up after. Other times the pick-up was trying to push the champagne-coloured car out of the way, causing the rear tires to skid.

The locals knew the lonesome winding dirt road would get very slippery in the rain, but these two were either ignorant or just flat-out foolish, she thought as she watched the vehicles tearing down the road recklessly. For quite a while the old Lincoln managed to stay on the road, until it lead uphill and the pick-up rammed it once more towards the edge of the cliff. The car looked like it tripped on a small rock near the scarp, causing the driver to lose control. The car flew over the edge in a diagonal angle, tumbling down the hill, until it smashed upright into a large rock, saving it from rolling all the way down the large cliff.

Curiosity overtook her mind as she witnessed the old Lincoln's descent and she moved towards the smoke that was billowing from the car's smashed hood. As she got closer, it appeared to her that the passenger's side door and front wheel had been separated from the vehicle during the event. As she approached the crashed car, a red-haired woman stepped out of the black pick-up truck, still on the road and soon she was filled with contempt. Another one of those sickening mindless winged creatures, she thought even as she took to observing the Lincoln. The windshield had been shattered and most of the car had been crushed. Gasoline and oil were running downhill from underneath the squashed metal frame. The driver had been bleeding quite extensively, she reckoned by the amount of blood that tainted the car's interior, however he had managed to escape the constricting wreckage. A blood trail led up the muddy hill and she followed it, listening to the noise coming from the dirt road as she did so.

Another pompous, conceited cretin had appeared, stabbing a dark-haired man, who must have been the driver of the Lincoln by the looks of it, with a silver double-edged dagger. The man was no ordinary man however, she acknowledged. He had a certain aura around him that suggested an angelic presence, but it was nothing like the other two arrogant foul dogs, who seemed to be bent on killing him. The man, wearing a long, thin coat, tainted with filth and blood, fell to his knees as the dagger was pulled out of his flank. His blue eyes seemed dull and pleading for help and she could read the all-consuming agony from his face.

For reasons unknown, feelings of distress overwhelmed her as she watched the guy get slammed into the high wall of rock. As his limp body fell to the floor she felt her heart racing. She couldn't help but feeling the need to do something, to help this man, even if he was an angel.

Even as the two obtuse, dim-witted halos ominously approached the unconscious man, her glance was averted to the shiny silver stiletto, lying on the floor in a pool of crimson blood, where the man had just been stabbed. She was drawn to it, carefully picked up the double-edged weapon off the floor and turned towards the affair…

* * *

"Cas! You've got to get up! You can't just lay here!", a familiar voice filled with terror exclaimed which instilled his heart with fear. Dean… He looked around the grey horizon, but couldn't figure out where the voice was coming from.

"Dean?" he called out. His head was hurting immensely and he realised he was trembling as he tried to stay upright. Why did he feel so weak? He seemed to be alone, incredibly alone he noted as there wasn't a bird in the sky, nor a worm in the ground. Then, suddenly, he felt a presence behind him and whirled around, taking a step back in the process. Dean.

"Cas, listen to me, you need to wake up, you're in danger", Dean urged him as he laid his hand on his shoulder and stared into his eyes intensely.

"Dean, what are you talking about? There's no one here". He gave Dean a puzzled look as his mind was racing, trying to figure out what his friend meant. The worried look in Dean's eyes made him feel sick to his stomach and his head was pounding even more. He felt he had to do something, go somewhere, but couldn't figure out what it was.

"Cas, look around, this is not real, I am not real and you are in danger. Come on, buddy, wake up", Dean anxiously pleaded.

Not real? He wasn't dreaming, that was for sure, he would have known, he had been dream walking often enough. He felt as if he was forgetting something, something important. It was nagging at his brain, he could almost catch whatever it was he had to remember, but it seemed to be slipping away every time he tried to think of it. He had been searching for something. Gadreel, he had been searching for Gadreel, but that wasn't it, he knew for sure, it had to be something else. He turned to look around him again. The landscape appeared almost moon-like, grey and gloomy and the horizon seemed to blend with the dark dim sky. Other than the wind, there was no sound and he could hear every beat of his own heart.

"Dean…", he started off, but realised the hunter was gone when he turned back to where his friend had been moments before. Where had he gone? What was going on? This wasn't real, he told himself again and the thought of it filled him with fear. He realised he was on his way to Dean, because he had to tell him something. He knew it was important, otherwise he would have just told him over the phone. Right, he had called him when he left the… Left where? Had he found whatever it was he had been looking for? He felt the frustration rushing through his mind as he tried to grasp the memory that was escaping him. He was looking for something important and after he had called Dean, he was going to meet him in person to bring him the news, tell him he hadn't been able to find it… A weapon…and it had been gone. That was it, the ancient weapon he had been searching for had been gone before he could get to it, Gadreel had been able to retrieve it before he could reach it.

Then where was he now? He nearly collapsed, but managed to hold himself up, clinging to a large, solid wall of stone. His aching head was getting almost unbearable and he sat himself down gently, leaning with his back against the cold rock. He closed his eyes, trying to figure it out, trying to grasp reality.

Two figures were approaching him, imminent and merciless, consuming him with terror. Ariel. They were going to kill him. He remembered his crashing into a large rock, halfway down the cliff, the angel blade penetrating his flank. Why did he stab him there and not right in his heart? He could have easily killed him, he wouldn't have stood a chance, but he didn't fatally wound him. He just injured him without intent to kill. Why did he do that? If it wasn't revenge they were after, then what?

_Cas, you have to wake up…_ Dean's voice was resounding in his head, pulling him from his thoughts. _You have to wake up…_

* * *

The world seemed blurry as he found the strength to slowly open his eyes a little. The rain was pouring down on him, feeling cold on his trembling body. A soft groan escaped his mouth as he tried to move, feeling a burning ache radiating through his torso. Slowly he regained consciousness and awareness of his surroundings. Then he felt a flare of panic as he remembered what happened. He had to get out of here, get up and move, but he felt so incredibly tired. He reached with his hand towards a piece of rock sticking out of the wall and tried to pull himself up, biting the immense pain away. He was short on breath when he finally got to his feet and his head was spinning.

He quickly glanced around to find his attackers, but he didn't see them at first, but when he looked down he realised their bodies laid dead before him. In total confusion and distress he looked around him, trying to find any trace of what had happened, but he found none. The angels were just dead and the only one around was Cas himself. Cautiously he allowed himself to relax a little, the immediate danger had been averted, even though he did not know how it has happened. One thing he knew for certain, it wasn't him – someone or something else had saved him. He remembered sensing another presence somewhere around, just before he had passed out. He didn't know what it was, but he was sure it had saved him.

He had to get to Sam and Dean, he reminded himself and looked at the muddy dirt road. It was leading upward onto a hill and a far distance away he could see a small contour in the darkness, which had to be the motel Dean had said they were staying at.

He gently started moving forward, guiding himself by the unmoving wall that was present along the entire winding road. He slipped at times, falling to his knees in the mud, only to pick himself up again, for he had no other choice but trying to get to the motel. Sam and Dean would be there and they would help him, keep him safe, he reminded himself constantly whenever he felt he couldn't continue.

He finally reached the door of the room Dean had told him to come to, number 6. His heart filled with relief. He could barely stand up and had to hold on to the door post. His legs were trembling underneath the weight of his body and the immense pain he had felt earlier had turned numb somewhere on his way here; his head was getting cloudy and his vision blurred in and out of focus. It took a lot of effort to lift his arm and knock on the door, but he felt a sense of security as he saw Dean's face when the door opened.

"Cas?! What the… Sam!"

He could still see the younger brother rushing to the door, but soon after the world went black.


End file.
